The World's No Stage: A Review of Theatricality in "Rent"
18 December 2005
Chris Columbus’ new film version of the musical "Rent" opens with its central cast standing in line across a stage in an empty theater, each individually spotlighted and singing "Seasons of Love," the Broadway show’s most famous and recognizable song. As much a method to get the title credits out of the way as an introduction to the melody that undercuts much of the musical’s score, the film’s image of characters singing outside the time and place of their story – and the nod to the unignorable fact that this story was a phenomenally successful stage show before it was a movie – evokes another recent Broadway adaptation: "Chicago" (Rob Marshall, 2002). "Chicago" so effectively wove an on-screen relationship between theater, burlesque, vaudeville, and courtroom drama that it won an Academy Award for best picture, but if "Rent" is the next pair of hands at the chest of the movie musical genre, trying to resuscitate what was once Hollywood’s most lucrative stock-in-trade, it certainly puts the longevity of the genre in its current form in serious doubt.
As much as "Rent"s opening sequence – and a later sequence during that song "Tango: Maureen," in which Maureen’s former boyfriend Mark is launched into an anti-room to dance with Maureen’s new partner, Joanne – recognizes that this film is inherently linked to the stage, the movie never deals with its story’s theatricality. Its characters frequently break out into song, yet the film places its eight twenty-somethings in, cinematically speaking, the real world – dark, gritty alleyways, subways, apartments, and strip clubs – where there seems to be little to sing about.
On stage, this is not an issue: the fact that "Rent" is a theatrical production allows for musical numbers. But random singing in film requires more consideration, since the medium can evoke reality as often as it evokes a story inherently produced. If "Rent"s story was a comment on the theatrical in life and circumstance – like "Chicago" or even last year’s "The Phantom of the Opera" (Joel Schumacher) – the singing would be justified. Instead, "Rent"s characters sing because that is what the audience expects them to do, having seen the play. The question "why are they singing" is ignored by Columbus entirely, and the result is a consistent and pervasive awkwardness between the film’s content and imagery.
Granted, not every movie musical has to include a stage, nor does "Rent" immediately fail with one, but if it were Columbus’ intention to ignore the stage success of "Rent" and to make the work anew, solely as a film, he would have done better to leave any stage imagery alone. That would have been difficult to do, though: Columbus needed to include "Seasons of Love" for consistency within the musical’s score, and "Seasons of Love" does not fit well within the context of the story.
As it is, "Rent" is a film dependent on those audience members who have seen – and loved – the stage show. That class of people may approve of the film, for rather than watch it, they may only see the staged version they went to several years ago; given the film’s first image, those people are more than justified in doing just that. For the remainder of the audience, "Rent" is an awkward attempt, less an adaptation than a continued cushy survival on the part of director Columbus, who also directed the first two Harry Potter movies as well as "Home Alone."
Given "Rent"s popularity, Columbus was certain to fill seats. He could have done more, thematically, to fill the screen.
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"Rent" (2005)
Chris Columbus, director
Stephen Chbosky, writer, from Jonathan Larson’s musical book
With Anthony Rapp, Adam Pascal, Rosario Dawson, Jesse L. Martin, and Taye Diggs
Synopsis: New York City, 1989. Aspiring filmmaker Mark returns to his apartment on Christmas Eve to find a notice of eviction. Landlord Benny arrives and offers to ensure Mark and roommate Roger’s rent-free stay at the apartment if they convince Mark’s former girlfriend Maureen to cancel her scheduled protest of Benny’s removal of a nearby tent city.
The next day, Mark’s friend Collins and drag queen Angel attend a support group for AIDS patients, with Mark in tow. Meanwhile, Roger, himself an AIDS carrier, refuses the advances of his downstairs neighbor Mimi.
Maureen’s protest turns into a riot. Mark’s footage of the riot appears on the evening news, a connection that garners Mark a job offer with a seedy television news show. At the same time, Roger and Mimi begin a tenuous relationship while Joanne and Maureen decide to become life partners, though the relationship sours when Joanne catches Maureen flirting with another girl at their reception.
Later, after Angel’s death, Roger leaves New York for Santa Fe while Mark begins his new job. Both men quickly become disillusioned with their new lives, returning to their old apartment and old pursuits. Meanwhile, Mimi has gone missing.
The next Christmas Eve, Maureen and Joanne find an ailing Mimi in the street and bring her to Roger and Mark’s apartment. While Mimi is on the verge of death, Roger plays the song he finally managed to write for her. She revives and the group gathers together, singing "No Day but Today."
Photo caption: Out Tonight. Mimi (Rosario Dawson) twirls once in a gritty New York street in Chris Columbus' "Rent." From the Revolution Studios Trailer.
Arthur Ryel-Lindsey » Comments:
A Smashing Story: The "Chick Flick" in Regards to "Pride and Prejudice"
An anecdote:
I’m sitting at my computer last Wednesday night, hunched, like I do since my computer is a small laptop that I keep at the far edge of my desk so that I have room to put things in front of it. I’m in my usual khaki pants, but only an undershirt, since a thought had inspired me to go online mid-costume change. I’m probably chewing on my pen cap as I rearrange the starters on my NFL fantasy team (only to put them back the way I had them to begin with) when my roommate Mike sticks his head in (I think I can get away with telling this story since I don’t think he reads this blog, and if he does, we’ll find out right quick, won’t we?)
So, film production student Mike sticks his head in. He’s wearing his monster red skiing coat and a knit hat. He says, "I’m seeing a movie with a friend tonight. ‘Aeon Flux.’ Want to come?"
"No," I say, half lying. I do want to come, but having been in less than ten minutes from Christmas shopping at the Carousel Center Mall in a Syracuse snow-dusting – which, in most other parts of the country, would be called a blizzard – I had already decided I was in for the night.
"Didn’t think so," he said. His look suggested his thoughts, that I didn’t want to go because of the movie selection.
A wholly untrue assessment, I thought, so, feeling some phantom urge to correct the matter, I said, "No, I’ve just seen a movie, at the Carousel."
"Oh? What?"
"‘Pride and Prejudice.’"
Mike’s face twisted into a cringe. He had the look of someone who had just bit into a rotten orange thinking it an apple in the first place. "What’d you think of it?"
"Magnificent in almost every way," I said, "Really some great film-making. The cinematography is gorgeous at times." He still wore a rotten expression. "What?" I said.
"Nothing. Just... looks like a chick flick."
Well, obviously Michael. And that is where my commentary begins. But first, my review:
Joe Wright’s new film version of "Pride and Prejudice" is, in a word, smashing. Walking into the theater Wednesday afternoon, I wanted to see it, but given everything I’ve heard about the film since its mid-September British release – a length of time for reading reviews and hearing first-hand insight that could not allow me to go in with a truly objective mind despite my best intentions and avowed practice – I only expected to be luke warm about the thing in general. The film smashed that expectation. I was not confident about Keira Knightley as Lizzy Bennet, since I have never been much inspired by the actress. The film smashed that opinion. Nor was I really confident anyone could pull off Bennet on screen, since she is such a cerebral character – and Darcy such an outward, thoughts-on-his-sleeve character – that the latter always seems to outweigh the former in film adaptations of Austen’s most revered book. The film smashed that rebuke. And I was not sure another Austen adaptation could really give me a picture of turn-of-the-19th-century England that I had not already seen before. The film most definitely smashed that thought.
Unlike the polished veneer of well-mannered, perfectly kept ladies and gentlemen, sweeping hillsides, and massive Victorian estates seen in previous Austen adaptations*, the England in Wright’s film is, on the whole, crowded and dirty. Certainly, those estates are still present. Certainly, those same breathtaking landscapes. But Wright’s film adds a layer of grittiness – in the amount of people packed into close quarters, in the occasionally unkempt hair and dress, in the film stock itself, it seems – that suggests England in 1797 was not always clean and romantic.
In the same vein, the film’s cinematography, especially among crowds of people in close quarters, is masterful. In one choreographed sequence at a social ball – the moment the Bennet family save Lizzy embarrass themselves and convince Darcy and Bingley’s sister to keep Bingley from marrying Jane – Wright and director of photography Roman Osin never stop the camera’s movement, yet the scene reveals several storylines in several rooms: Mary’s disappointing piano performance that results in her running off and crying to be consoled several rooms and camera turns later by her father, Darcy’s avoidance of Lizzy (done entirely in the background as we follow Lizzy through a room), Lydia and Mrs. Bennet’s accident prone drunkenness. Wright and Osin have a remarkable eye for subtle detail, knowing that a man’s hand trailing against a woman’s gown can be enough to depict... what? Lust and desire, loyalty, devotion, and disgrace, depending on the arrangement of the moment. Small details in a big scene make the movement work, and as a whole, the sequence is an excellent – obviously difficult to achieve – device for moving the plot forward and capturing several points of view without obviousness.
This is not to say the film never stands still. "Pride and Prejudice"s visual strength may be in compositions. In one notable long shot/long take, Lizzy walks to Bingley’s manor along a green ridge, with a lonely tree and gorgeous evening sky framing her march. The image itself depicts her worry for her ailing sister, her physical struggle, and – more importantly – her desire for independence and willingness to do the unthinkable. Also, several establishing shots in lavish rooms or at dinner tables are beautifully symmetrical, and, at the moment Lady Catherine de Bourg asks Lizzy to play the piano forte, the men are arranged by height, in stances that almost mock the classical mural behind them. A parallel image is of the Bennet daughters arranged around the room when Bingley and Darcy arrive toward the end. Their too perfect arrangement a punchline to the panic just seen by the audience as the girls prepared for the two mens’ unexpected arrival.
While all these visual checkmarks are being tallied up, Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFadyen (Darcy) are giving strong performances in the lead roles, with an effective portrayal of emotions equal parts hatred and budding desire that makes their ultimate engagement – surprising to every member of the story except them – a level of convincing reality that has not been achieved many times before. The supporting cast is also excellent, notable among them Donald Sutherland as Mr. Darcy, Brenda Blethyn as his wife, and Tom Hollander as the befuddling – and short – Mr. Collins.
The film does have the problem of the last scene: an awkward and poorly written tete-a-tete between an uncombed Lizzy and a Darcy looking more like Huckleberry Finn, in which Darcy calls Lizzy "Mrs. Darcy" repeatedly. One of my friends hated the scene and recommended everyone read the book before seeing the movie to make sure they knew the real ending of the story (I did not, nor have ever, read the book; shocking for a degree carrying English scholar, I know). Another friend, an Austen scholar herself in younger days, stated equal disdain for the ending, suggesting that it flew in the face of everything Austen’s writing was about. Both might be interested to learn that this last scene was tacked on to the American verison only, that the British release ends after the door clothes on Mr. Bennet, who has just given Lizzy permission to marry. In fact, Focus Features is rereleasing the film in England under the advertising campaign, "See the ending all of America is talking about." Why the scene exists – and why it was hand made for American audiences – are matters of pure speculation. It is, nevertheless, unnecessary.
But "Pride and Prejudice" is a remarkably strong film, regardless of the last scene or the fact that it is a story that has been told on film many times before. Its freshness in its filmmaking adds to the charm and boyishness Knightley brings to Bennet’s character. As a result, "Pride and Prejudice" is captivating, even for the most skeptical anti-Austens among us. It’ll win you over. And I rate it (with only ‘Good Night, and Good Luck’) as among the absolute and true "best films of the year" (among those films that I have seen); i.e. if I was responsible for nominating five films for best picture, I now have only three spaces to fill.
That said, my strongest doubt concerning the film is that it cannot avoid being immediately labeled and pigeonholed. "Why?" asks Michael with a wicked cringe.
"Because it’s a ‘chick flick,’" I say.
What does that even mean: "chick flick?" The term implies some limiting process: a stick figure half-overlapped by a triangle to suggest this one is for girls only. I suppose all "chick flicks" are romantic, girl-meets-guy type films, but if that’s the only requirement several films that do not seems at all made only for women will apply; girls meet guys in horror films all the time, they just get hacked to pieces afterwards.
Perhaps I struggle at coming up with definition for "chick flick" because my taste in movies does not parallel the taste of the moviegoers who came up with the phrase. Surely those people would think any adaptation of Jane Austen would fit the bill. I hesitate to assume so: "Pride and Prejudice" is a romantic comedy, certainly, but in its confrontations with class struggle and elitism (what this study of "chick flicks" is all about really), I’d say something more than chick flickery is at work.
Nevertheless, let’s wave our rights to argue and take Mike’s word for it: "Pride and Prejudice" is a "chick flick." My question: should we castigate it for that? Like Mike, should we be cringing? Should we say the movie's only for women, or only for women, gay men, romantics, literopiles, and the men unfortunate enough to be dragged along?
How can we? "Pride and Prejudice" will never be free of the label, in any context. It is, after all, what it is: Austen was a romantic – and a women in a male-dominated business. Perhaps, auspiciously, one should see it for its definitiveness.
Now, I suppose I should not surprised if the average Schwarzenegger fan refused to see "Pride and Prejudice" because of its title, author, or implications. But I told that first story about my roommate because his reaction shocks me more: as a film student, shouldn’t he be interested in any film that offers good filmmaking, good acting, good writing, and good story, regardless of any vacant and elusive labels? It is always good to be surprised – as indeed the filmmaking in "Pride and Prejudice" surprised me – but, given that Mike is a man who willfully bought "Starship Troopers," perhaps good filmmaking is not his primary concern.
I’m being way too hard on Mike, of course, and I apologize for going as far as I have. He is hardly the only one who approaches "Pride and Prejudice" in a reserved way. I, in fact, continue to do so.
Since seeing the film, each time I recommend it, I have had a slight twinge of reservation. "It’s a great film," I say, then wonder if I should qualify that or include the word "actually": "It actually is a great film." This reservation might come from the film’s general status: it’s Austen, says the culture around me, it’s "chick flick"y, so it can’t be that good. Or, it might be the fact that I’m a man, that I personally don’t want to upset any predisposition toward male opinion making, which supposedly earmarks me to love "Walk the Line," since that film is most decidedly in my style, and at best be indifferent to "Pride and Prejudice" (I have seen "Walk the Line," a good film, but what I said before about my best picture choices stands, so what does that tell you?).
But shouldn’t this be the attitude of the true critic? To do his/her best to ignore labels and automatic predispositions, to not cringe at the sound of cringe-making films, whatever those happen to be, and to go into any film openly and without reservation?
Mike is not a critic, nor is he trying to be. The film student is absolutely allowed his choice. Everyone is, who is not a critic. The advantage of the film medium right now is that there is plenty to see, so that any audience member can pick and choose.
I just hope, then, that they are willing to choose "Pride and Prejudice." A masterwork -- and indeed, critics seem to think so -- even if it inspires ugly faces.
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Photo Caption: "Play the Piano-Forte." Shot from Lizzy Bennet's point of view, a striking visual composition in Joe Wright's "Pride and Prejudice." From the Focus Features trailer
* for a brief history of previous Austen adaptations, see paragraph five of "The Rifle in Your Hand: Confronting Audience and Adaptation in Response to ‘Jarhead,’ Part II," 14 November 2005
Arthur Ryel-Lindsey » Comments:
As much as "Rent"s opening sequence – and a later sequence during that song "Tango: Maureen," in which Maureen’s former boyfriend Mark is launched into an anti-room to dance with Maureen’s new partner, Joanne – recognizes that this film is inherently linked to the stage, the movie never deals with its story’s theatricality. Its characters frequently break out into song, yet the film places its eight twenty-somethings in, cinematically speaking, the real world – dark, gritty alleyways, subways, apartments, and strip clubs – where there seems to be little to sing about.